Marcus is in his room, reading a library book
Dad is in town, passing out flyers to the businesses on the square
Momma is standing at the stove, stirring a pot of oatmeal
And Carla lie sleeping, underneath the sycamore tree in the vacant lot on Tremont Street

A loud clap of thunder causes me to jump
The ladle, slipping from Momma's hand, clanks loudly on the linoleum floor
The room grows dim as the approaching storm blocks out the sun
And Carla lies sleeping, underneath the sycamore tree in the vacant lot on Tremont Street

Marcus comes out of his room, and sits opposite me at the table
I'm reading the words on the milk carton, have you seen this child?
It's an old picture, I hear Momma say, but it's the only one we had
And Carla lies sleeping, underneath the sycamore tree in the vacant lot on Tremont Street

Another clap of thunder, and the rain begins pelting the roof above my head
The lights flicker, a gust of wind rattles the window pane
I start to cry, wishing she was here, hating being the only one who knows
That Carla lies sleeping, underneath the sycamore tree in the vacant lot on Tremont Street
 
Robert C. Taylor